Rooftops
by TMBlue
Summary: The longer he sat here next to her, with rules and regulations, the more sense he lost. It was growing increasingly difficult to be this close to her, to feel everything at once, and not be able to do what he really wanted...


_**A/N: **This just happened. I have no excuses. I meant for this to happen in time for the ** Missing Moments Challenge**, just now posted by the way, so hop over there for some great stuff! But it didn't happen then. It happened now. Last night and tonight. All at once, for some reason. So there you have it. I know how the next chapter would go. So I'm sure that will happen too._

_I haven't forgotten my chapter stories and all those words I've got to write! This just came out and what can you do really... My apologies. *cringe* Onward?_

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><p><strong>Rooftops<strong>

**March, 1998  
><strong>

His feet dangled over the edge of the roof, sharp shell edges pressing painfully into his thighs as he squirmed to get more comfortable. He knew this spot. He knew where the jagged edges were, and how to avoid them. But somehow, tonight, his mind wasn't on this particular detail. So he shifted, twice, and to his right. And at last, he found the spot that he supposed he'd worn down during his weeks here before...

She spoke so softly he wasn't sure he'd heard her, and he couldn't be certain, either, how long he'd been sitting here, staring into the sky as the sound of the sea rushing to and from the shoreline mesmerized him, lulling him away from here, to some far off land where things made sense and he was finally at rest.

But he heard her again, and was sure of it now, her voice low beneath the gentle crash of small ocean waves.

"Hermione?" he said, much too softly for her to hear him either.

But she'd been so much closer than he'd realized, halfway up onto the roof, and he only noticed when her hands blindly felt for a place to grab on, several feet to his left. He was on his knees in a flash, scrambling over familiar shell patterns in half a beat.

"Ron, is that you?" she called, and he reached out a hand to help her up, no other choice now that she was nearly there.

"Hey! What are you doing?" he called down as he tugged her up. "Be careful!" She grasped his warm hand, her dressing gown flying open as she pressed her knees down against the roof, finally clearing the edge with the help of Ron's clenched arm muscles and strong fingers gripping her own.

"You want to tell yourself that?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him as the ocean breeze blew through her gown again, making her shiver.

He couldn't help but grin as she shifted against the roof, letting go of his hand to steady herself, palms down.

"Come over here where it's not so rough," he said, tilting his head in the direction of his favourite spot. And they crawled together, his eyes moving back to her every half second, tempting _her _eyes to roll at his over protection.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked as he finally reached the right spot again, scooting back so his legs no longer dropped quite as far over the edge as they had moments before. It may have been subconscious, taking more of a precaution in Hermione's presence, when she was there with him to be in the same sort of danger, but he caught on to his own gesture, understanding its meaning as if he were an outside spectator, viewing his own life through a sharply focused lens.

"Thinking," he answered simply, honestly, as she settled next to him, wrapping her gown more tightly across her body, and he chanced a glance in her direction now as she bit her lip. Perfect timing.

"Thinking of what?" she asked quietly, and he sensed the waves and salty night air taking effect again, hypnotizing him. Or perhaps it was her skin in the moonlight, the way her eyes sparkled like the open black water in front of them. Or the way she clutched her dressing gown with whitened knuckles.

He feared for her every day, and more somehow since Malfoy Manor. But how was that possible? They were safe. Weren't they? For now. But maybe that's what prompted renewed fear, knowing that if you stopped moving for long enough, someone was bound to find out about it...

But most of all, right now, he loved her. And if he was being honest with himself, that feeling had been the predominate force of his life for years.

He realized he still hadn't answered her question, but he wasn't really sure how to. It wasn't as if he could tell her the truth, the whole of it, and not have to explain every detail of it, and why it was there... why he'd waited so long to tell her it had been there. For so very long.

But he watched her take his silence as refusal to answer, and she bit her lip again.

"If I can guess," she began, "will you tell me?"

His lips vibrated as he tried not to grin, but he couldn't help it. It was never possible to hold back a smile when she was so close to him, and grinning back at him, eyes locked like they shared a secret he hadn't even been told yet...

"Okay," he said, encouraged by the chance to hear her speak again.

"Let's see," she said slowly, considering her guesses carefully. Of course she would. "You were thinking about... how dinner was much too long ago?"

She smirked at him and he laughed out loud, shocked at the noise he'd made, like he'd forgotten his frail and beaten body could produce such a happy sound.

"No," he said, nudging her with his shoulder. "Is that really your best guess?"

She grinned wider still and shook her head.

"Let's see... maybe..." She turned her gaze to the stars, their light so bright and flawless here in the country, where no other lights could touch them or stamp them out. "Were you thinking about... flying?"

He watched her profile, mesmerized.

"No," he nearly whispered, "but I am now."

She turned to face him again, her expression nostalgic and soft.

"Do you miss it?" she asked.

"Sometimes," he admitted, "though I haven't had much time to think about it."

"Will you take me, someday?" she said timidly, and he froze, nodding without a sound. "Really?"

"Of course! I didn't think... I mean, I never thought you'd want..." He trailed off, caught in her gaze.

"Would be nice, with you," she said, and he watched her blush. Actually _watched _it happen, right before his eyes. She turned her face back towards the sea again, and he stared openly at her, without fear of being caught.

He was captivated, and speechless, though it wasn't so new, was it? How could he have missed all of these things before? Had she shown him this side of her, when he'd been wearing that bloody locket? Had he been too selfish to see what was right there all along? He wasn't sure if it was disappointing to know he'd ruined the past or more thrilling to see that he was getting a second chance, and now he could hope for the future.

She was right there. Right next to him. _Him_! And he couldn't blame luck, not entirely. So what did it mean?

"Maybe you were thinking about... everyone at Hogwarts," she said after a while, and he found himself lost again, with no idea how long he'd been staring at her.

"No," he finally managed to say, when she turned back to face him again, awaiting his answer, "but I do think about them, often."

She nodded, her face white with the glow of the night.

"When we first left home," she said quietly, "I missed it terribly, being at school. But then I forgot to miss it, even forgot why I should. And now, I don't know what it would feel like, to be there again."

He felt his eyes prickle at the thought of this loss, of a past slipping quietly away without their say it in. No matter what they did, they could never go back there again, to that place of dreams and memories that she'd let go of so recently. Hermione belonged behind stacks of dusty books, rolls of parchment spread on tables around her, her hair frizzy and wild as she memorized line after line of text. And it was more unfair than he'd realized, that she'd left it behind. Hogwarts had been her home, and maybe even more than it had been his. Before she'd come to Hogwarts, she'd been a Muggle, really. Why had he never asked her about it before, about the day she'd found who she really was? He would, one day, when it was over, when they had all the time in the world...

But would they have that time? He struggled daily with the knowledge that he _couldn't_know.

"Hermione," he said, voice scratchy, "you'll go back to Hogwarts, you know, when this is all over. You'll go back and take your N.E.W.T.S."

"Will I?" she asked, smiling softly.

"Yeah," he nodded, studying her amused expression with interest. "You belong there, don't you. It's where I... imagine you."

"Imagine me?" she asked, laughing lightly. "But I'm here with you. You don't have to imagine anything."

"I guess, maybe... it's where I _dream _you," he finally said, cheeks pink and warm.

She blinked at him, and... moved an inch closer? Her knuckles weren't so white anymore against the thin fabric of her dressing gown. They froze together, and he waited for something to break, to send them apart again. But he struggled to hold on tighter than before, renewed by the idea of her hand in his again, her breath on his cheek, his arms around her as they had been before... when she'd been lifeless and he'd been terrified.

It suited them, that the moment he finally got close enough to mean something new, she'd been struggling to remain conscious and he'd been trembling against her as he tried to carry her clumsily to safety.

She smiled again, blinked slower than usual, and turned back towards the sea.

"I haven't guessed what you were thinking of yet... have I..."

He shook his head, feeling foggy all of a sudden, as if he were resting on the edge of sleep, the moment before dreams took over reality.

"Were you thinking about your family?" she asked, unexpectedly, and he licked his salty lips.

He hadn't been thinking of a _Weasley_. But he felt that simply answering no wasn't entirely truthful.

"In a way," he finally said, opting for yet another layer of mysteriousness. Was he hoping she'd never guess, or that she'd forget altogether? He wasn't even sure anymore...

Everything felt calm tonight. And the sky, so vast and distant above them, seemed to enforce their proximity, feet away on a shell covered rooftop. And it could feel, if he let it, like they were the only two people in the universe. He was oddly relaxed by this idea, breathing deeper now than he'd done all year, reminding his lungs of their rather incredible capacity...

He watched her, once again considering his response. What was she thinking? He'd often wanted to be able to read her mind. But tonight, he wanted to _hear _her tell him everything inside of it. Oh, it could take a whole lifetime, words and numbers and nonsense from the world that existed inside the mind of Hermione Granger. But he couldn't help grinning at the simplicity of existing for someone else, to stop the world and simply listen to her soul.

"Harry?" she said, and for a moment, Ron thought their world had been interrupted. He wasn't sure why his stomach dropped, or why he felt a wave of discontent over the idea of his best friend arriving to join them. But something was going to be shattered if he couldn't hold on, and if Harry showed up just now, he was sure he'd accidentally let go.

But he looked around, and saw no sign of Harry. When Hermione giggled next to him, he met her eyes and shrugged.

"No," she said through her laughter, "I meant... were you _thinking _of Harry? He's _almost _family..."

But Ron shook his head, blushing again.

"Wasn't thinking of him," he said. In fact, for once, Harry had been very far from his thoughts. He'd spent so many nights worrying, terrified for his friend, knowing he'd have to stand in the way of a bloody killing curse for him, if it came down to it. And he was glad. He was going to save Harry's life if he had anything to say about it. But now, here, he'd left fear and duty behind, somewhere wrapped up in a sleeping bag on the sitting room floor, two stories below...

Hermione looked honestly disappointed now, as he watched her, with her failed guesses. Her hands had moved to play with the tie of her gown, twisting it between bruised fingers... He couldn't leave her there that way, as he'd done before. Left when she'd needed him. And was it possible that she needed him now? He had an answer she couldn't find. So he could give it to her now...

"I was thinking of you," he blurted, before he could consider it. "I was thinking of how I left. Last time I was up here, I didn't know if I'd ever see you again..."

She was trembling, but hadn't turned to look at him again. How could he even hope to know what she was thinking if she wouldn't let him see her properly?

"Hermione?" he begged, fingers aching from the effort of remaining at a safe distance, rough against shells instead of soft against her skin... so much of it, every inch he wanted to touch.

She was driving him mad. And not even slowly. The longer he sat here next to her, with rules and regulations, the more sense he lost. It was growing increasingly difficult to be this close to her, to feel everything at once, and not be able to do what he really wanted, to say the words that had danced on the tip of his tongue for so long...

But it never felt right. No matter how much he wanted things to work, for his brain and his lips and his gravelly voice to function together, they simply would not.

And the worst part was, he wasn't sure how to change.

"You won't leave again..." she said all of a sudden, so close to a whisper that he literally felt the strain of trying to make sure he could hear her.

"Never," he said, once again shocked by his own voice. This time, he was startled with the strength and clarity with which he'd spoken.

And just as suddenly as _she'd_spoken, a moment before, he understood what he'd needed to fix everything, all this time. He'd needed conviction, and not in himself. Yes, he knew how much he loved her. He ached with it. No, he needed to be sure he could let himself admit it, without fear of rejection, no matter how possible it might seem.

It didn't matter now if she felt it back. He would always love her.

At once, he was horrified and relieved to understand. There was some kind of freedom in it that he'd never before experienced. But if he wanted to, he could tell her tonight. And that was where he felt his heart fly, knowing it could be over in seconds, if he let it.

But then she looked at him, she spoke again, and he listened with his whole life...

"I need you, Ron," she said sincerely, "and when you're with me, it's alright."

"It?" he asked flatly, caught in her words.

"It," she repeated. "Everything. Whatever happens."

She scooted closer, purposefully, and linked her arm with his. He held his breath, marvelling in the perfect weight of her head on his shoulder. And then he moved, tucking his knees up to rest his feet solidly on the rooftop. He untangled his arm from hers only long enough to stretch across her shoulders, squeezing her tightly to his side where she leaned securely.

Could they stay here forever? Would they be forgotten one day, left alone to simply exist?

He buried his nose in her hair and spoke into her curls.

"Does anything hurt? How do you feel?" he mumbled.

"No," she sighed, "I feel perfect."

He smiled against the top of her head and closed his eyes.

It was only going a few words more now, and they no longer frightened him. Never again.

"I need you, too," he said. "I... I love you, you know."

She clutched his jacket so tightly he could feel her nails through the thick wool.

"But... y-you love Harry, and you love your family, and-" but he lifted his head from hers, ducking until she lifted her own head from his shoulder, eyes inches apart.

"No, you don't understand," he breathed.

He drifted into her eyes and was safe. And absolutely invincible.

"I'm _in love_with you. And I should have told you a long time ago."

She held her breath again, and maybe it was unhealthy for two hearts to beat so fast.

"And when the war is over, I'm going to..." He paused, realizing his own next words as he was on the verge of speaking them, and suddenly, they were so amusing he couldn't help but laugh. She lifted her eyebrows into her fringe as he brushed a calloused hand across her cheek. "When the war's over, I'm going to kiss you, okay? Is that... is that okay?"

He watched her lips move, parting, then turning up beautifully at the corners.

"Is that _alright_? !"

He half shrugged, unable to stop grinning.

"Ron, I love you. Oh my God, I love you! So much I didn't even know how I was going to make it when you left because I hadn't _told _you... and what if it was my fault because if you'd known, maybe you wouldn't have left at all!"

He tried and failed to swallow the lump forming in his throat. But she wasn't upset. In fact, her eyes were wide with excitement and possibility. No longer filled with shards of regret and hurt from what he'd done. Was this forgiveness, now, that he was witnessing?

"So... of course it's alright!" she laughed. "Unless I kiss you first!"

His nose touched hers accidentally, and she lowered her eyes shyly to laugh again. He wrapped his right arm around her waist, now encasing her with him. And he felt her fingers dance up his chest to the stubble at the edge of his jaw.

"So, now it's a race?" he asked, half-smiling. She leaned in, light with laughter again, pressing her chin and nose into his neck, and his eyes shut on their own, an automatic reaction.

He could feel her eyelashes against his skin, her foot somehow digging into his shin, and the delightfully warm skin of her back through the fine material of her thin shirt and dressing gown.

And he suddenly felt, also, so many things he hadn't even known had been there before, nearly impossible things, like the light from the stars hitting each one of his freckles, her heart beating inside his own chest, the hairs on top of each of his toes standing on end beneath his socks...

There was life before this night, and there was life now. And no matter what happened from here, they were finally going to be alright. And he knew, that even in death, he would have this. Whether that day should come tomorrow... or in a thousand years.


End file.
